


Accidents Happen Sometimes

by RizGriz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU: Dead John Winchester, Abusive John Winchester, Abusive Parents, Brutal Murder, Case Fic, Dean Winchester Has Issues, Dean Winchester Has Secrets, Dean Winchester Needs Therapy, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester is John's Good Little Soldier, Dean has had enough, Dean kills John, Dean raised Sam, FIC SPOILERS:, Gen, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester Dies, Murder, Oblivious Sam Winchester, POV Dean Winchester, Pre-Canon, Protective Dean Winchester, SPN Coldest Hits, Season 1 AU: John is dead, Season/Series 01, Stanford Era (Supernatural), Tea Parties, sam and dean working a case, tea time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RizGriz/pseuds/RizGriz
Summary: During Season 1 Sam and Dean work a case in a small town where a father has been killed by seven stab wounds. The case hits close to home for Dean as he shares tea with the one witness-the victims young daughter. Dean is bluntly reminded of the accidents of his past.Season 1 AU: John is dead.





	Accidents Happen Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> check the tags before you read please because the plot bunnies went wild! if you don't care about spoilers but want to understand it a little more just check out the bottom notes!
> 
> This does include an abusive John and a fairly graphic fight scene as well as an abusive father character whom we never speak to. 
> 
> There is NO non-con or even referenced non-con.
> 
> UnBetaed!
> 
> I wrote this in like 2 hours so it's not perfect.

Dean put the Impala in park as he pulled into the spot at the morgue. Sam looked up from his laptop, rereading the case file before they went in. A bell dinged as they made their way into the lobby. Flashing a smile at the receptionist, Dean sauntering up to the desk.

“Detective Richards and Mills,” he said flashing his fake badge. “I was wondering if we could take a quick look at the body that came in on Tuesday, the homicide victim?”

“Arthur Hales?” she asked looking through the manila files onto the desk

“Yeah, if we could,” said Sam. She nodded and led them down a brightly lit hallway to the autopsy room. Metal doors covered the far wall, everything surfaced in with white subway tiles, the smell of bleach in the air. The woman walked over to one of the doors and pulled it open, pulling out the rack with the body. Dragging back the sheet, she revealed the victims head. His face pale, drawn, devoid of blood.

“And the wounds were on his chest?” asked Sam

“Chest and abdomen,”

“Do you know what kind of weapon was used?” asked Dean, pulling the shroud further back to reveal a multitude of stab wounds–seven deep gashes.

“Kitchen shears were found at the scene and seem to fit the wounds, but that’s all we got. His daughter was home with him, found him actually, she said there was a ghost, but kids, you know?” said the woman. Sam and Dean passed a look between them 

‘Ghost?’ ‘Maybe,’ 

“Well, thank you for your time, that should be all we need” said Dean, flashing another smile. The woman blushed faintly, looking away quickly. 

Sam and Dean walked back through the empty hallway and out the jangling door. Sliding into baby, Dean loosened his tie.

“Dude, what was with the flirting back there? She’s too old to be your type,” said Sam already pulling out dad’s journal.

“Hey, a little schmoozing never hurt anyone, Sammy,” 

“Yeah, right, well and even seven gashes seems excessive”

“Could be demonic or witchy,” Dean pulled out of the parking lot and gunned it down the quite street. It was a small town. Things like this don’t happen in small towns. The kid had said it was a ghost and is cases like this; it was kids who tended to see the bigger picture.

“We need to talk to the kid,” said Dean abruptly. Sam looked up to stare at Dean.

“Dude, it’s a kid, what is she gonna tell us that won’t be her imagination?”

“Just trust me on this one, alright?” said Dean, glancing at Sam

 

~~

 

“Hi Mrs. Hale, I’m Detective Richards and Mills, we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about you husband’s recent passing?” asked Dean. They stood on the porch of a powder blue two story house with green grass and white trim, perfect suburbia.

“Oh, sure, yeah come in,” she said, seemingly in a trance, and led them into a living room. “Um, what questions could you have? Some officers already asked me?” her trance–undoubtedly grief–clouded her mind, confusion in her eyes.

“We were just trying to straighten out some of the details–” 

“And I was wondering if we could speak to you daughter?” interjected Dean. Sam shot him a dirty look.

“Oh, sure, yes Lainey is in the back yard,” Mrs. Hale said, pointing over her shoulder.

Dean said a quick ‘thank you’ as he passed the woman, passing through the kitchen. He could see the little girl, maybe nine, sitting at a children’s play table in the middle of the yard, shaded by a large oak. Looking around the kitchen he saw a few stray droplets of blood on the edge of lower cabinets that hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned. Dean opened the backdoor and walked slowly down the steps of the back porch. 

“Could we talk for a minuet?” asked Dean, Crouching down across from Lainey.

“Sure,” she said, not looking up from her tea set. A deep calm came across in her voice; it was unnerving to hear in a child. Dean sat down fully, letting his eyes drop to the tea cup she set in front of him. “I heard you were home with your dad and there was a ghost?”

“Yeah,”

“What did the ghost look like?”

“You can stop pretending you believe me, I know that no one believes me,” Lainey said coolly.

“Why don’t you tell me anyways? There’s no harm,” said Dean, accepting a small silver spoon for his tiny tea cup.

“It was a teen girl and she was wearing a pink satiny dress that went all the way down and she was blonde and she had blood all over her like–”

“That sounds like a girl from a scary movie, like Carrie?” asked Dean. She had oddly specific details.

“So what if it is?” Lainey asked after a long pause, eyes shifting evasively.

“It’s important, you know that,” Dean stopped for a second, just watching as she filled both their tea cup with juice, passing a toy sugar pot to Dean. A bruise was fading behind her ear, mostly hidden above her hairline. Eyes darkening, Dean looked away quickly, “You like your dad?”

“Maybe,” she finally looks up at him, eyes shining, hoping he understands.

“Me too,” Dean starts, “I think sometimes adults don’t understand until they’re told. And I think sometimes they don’t listen, they think they know everything,” Lainey eyes filled with tears, nodding just slightly, “and sometimes accidents happen, but everything they did was an accident, so they were bound to have one happen to them,”

“Did you have an accident with your daddy?” she spoke slowly, quietly, eyes brimming with hope, boring into Dean intensely. 

“Yeah, I did,” says Dean, just as quiet, he glanced over her shoulder to see Sam standing on the porch, watching.

“What do I do, I did a really bad thing, and I think I need to tell someone,” she nearly whispered.

“Nothing, don’t do anything. Accidents happen and no one made him tell about his accidents, so I think we can keep this one between the two of us,” she nodded furiously, tears spilling over. She snuffled and wiped her nose, “I have to go, but I don’t think you should worry, Lainey, you just keep being a good person and someday this won’t seem too bad, I promise, and thank you for the tea.” he cracked a faint smile that Lainey returned.

He got up off the grass and walked back over to Sam, he felt Lainey’s eyes follow him the whole way.

“Not our kinda case, Sammy.” said Dean lightly.

“What do you mean, not our kinda case? Everything fits,” Sam’s forehead scrunched a bit in confusion. “no enemies, good marriage, sweet kid, seven stab wounds, no one else home, kid says she saw something freaky, what else could this be, Dean?

“Not our case, only time will fix this,” he clapped Sam on the shoulder as he passed, walking back into the house. Sam followed, questions waiting for the car.  
As soon as the Impala’s doors shut, Dean’s phone dinged with a message.

“New case from Dad, Sammy. Two states over in Indiana,” said Dean, throwing the car in drive and pulling away from the curb and gunning it down the street, leaving behind the reminder of his sins.

 

~~

 

Dean pulled into the motel parking lot. His breath was shallow, hands shaky. Sammy just left. Left him behind. He just dropped him off at the bus pickup. Sammy was gone for college. his younger brother, practically his kids, had just left for college and Dean didn’t know when he’d ever see Sammy again.

Getting out of the Impala, Dean walked over to John, the older man sitting on the stoop of their room, eyes cast down.

“You did this, this is all your fault,” John said, eyes flashing up, anger boring into Dean. “I give you one job, ‘keep Sammy safe,’ and you put ideas of college in his head?”

“He was gonna go either way, the least I could do was keep him safe–”

“Safe is here with us, Dean!” John yelled, scaring a woman walking to her room. She scurried off, the sound of a lock clicking loudly when she slipped into her room. Dean couldn’t help but agree that his dad was scary right now.

“Dad you’re just drunk, it won’t seem so bad tomorrow,” Dean came a step closer, holding out his hand for John. He needed to put on his placating voice for John, Flagstaff had taught him as much.

“I’ve barely drank, Dean! Just can’t face the music can you? You did this,” John jabbed, getting up, not swaying or slurring at all, and advancing on Dean. “This is your fault!” John pushed Dean, “you-” push “did-” push “this!” push.

Dean snapped, right fist coming forwards to land on the side of John’s face.

“What did you just do, boy?” John asked quietly. He was pissed, fire in his eyes. John’s fist came up and landed a hit straight to Dean’s nose. He heard a crunch, blood pouring from his nostrils.

Dean snapped, instinct taking over, rushing forwards and tackling John to the ground, landing hit after hit on his father. John used his weight to flip them, Dean’s back pressed into gravel, the stone shards biting into his skin.

“Your fault, Dean,” said John as Dean’s hand shot out towards the sidewalk that ran along the front of the motel, grasping whatever he could find. “And you won’t even take responsibil–” John was cut off as Dean swung a chunk of paver that had lined the sidewalk, slamming it into John’s head. The older man fell back in a daze, Dean following, bringing the rock up to swing again.

The rock broke skin and skull as Dean swung again, and again, and again until his father’s head was beaten in sickly. He had stopped breathing before Dean was even done. Scrambling back, away from his broken father, Dean panted harshly, rock falling from his shaking hand.

Dead. John was dead. Gone. Sam was gone. Alone. Dean was alone.

Dean’s whole body tremored as he stood, scooping his father’s beaten body into his arms. He sat there far too long; John would have thrown a fit for being out in the open with all that blood. Thought swirled through his mind, pouring away into a dark abyss. What had he done? Why did he feel no remorse? Rocking side to side gently, like he had done a thousand time when Sammy had been little, Dean’s mind pieced together a plan. 

Getting a better grip on his father, Dean carried him bridal style to the trunk of the Impala. He popped the trunk, not even knowing where the keys had come from.

Dropping John’s body into the trunk with no care save for wrapping him in an old tarp, Dean felt no tears come to his eyes, no mercy in his heart, no regret in his soul. Slamming the trunk shut, he got into the driver’s side starting the engine frantically before remembering to get their things from the motel room.  
He walked past John’s blood staining the gravel in front of the room. 

With the duffels loaded in the back seat, Dean took off, driving for hours, not stopping for anything but gas until the sun came up and fell again. Pulling off onto a dirt side road he put the car into park staring off into the fields surrounding him for a long moment before getting out of the car.  
It took hours to pile every piece of wood he could find into a make-shift pyre. Dean popped the trunk; Johns body nearly the same as the night before, wrapped in a tarp. Dean lifted his father’s body from the trunk, putting it one the pyre with no great care. Just stopping at the end to wrap the tarp tighter like when he had swaddled Sammy so long ago.

Once the wood was drenched in fuel, he struck open his lighter and tossed it onto the pyre. The wood was engulfed in flames in a matter of minutes.  
Dean didn’t bother staying to watch it burn, just closing the trunk and getting back in the car. He sat with the fire off to his left, burning with a passion, pulling out his phone. He saw his fingers still had his father’s blood around the nails as he dialed.

“What are you calling me midnight for, boy?” he heard as soon as the phone picked up.

“Bobby?” His voice shook, fear starting to leak through, “I did something really bad, I don’t know what to do, bobby, I don’t-I- I don’t,”

“Dean, what are you on about, what happened?” 

“I killed him bobby, I killed him, he’s dead, and I–I burnt him! He’s dead…” Dean got quiet, bringing his shaking fingers to his lips. He could smell the blood 

“Who did you kill, Dean,” bobby’s voice was tense.

Dean steadied himself, breath evening out. It was over. His father didn’t matter anymore.

“I killed John,”

**Author's Note:**

> In this story Sam and Dean work a case where a man was stabbed seven times. They go to talk to the family and Dean decides to talk to the daughter. She is sitting outside alone having a make believe tea party and he joins her. What follows is him asking questions about the case, her answer being slightly suspicious. Dean is honest and asks her if something happened between her and her dad after he sees a bruise on her neck. She admits that it was her who killed him and dean relieves the he understands and that she will move on from this. Dean goes back into the house and tells Sam that it isn't a supernatural case and he gets a text, presumable from John, just as they leave. It flashed back to a scene taking place directly after Sam leaves for Stanford. Dean returns from dropping him off for a bus and John yell at him about how he didn't raise Sam well enough and how it is Dean's fault he left. John provokes Dean until he punches his father. John retaliates and the two scuffle until Dean gets his hands on a rock and hits John repeatedly in the head. He loads John in the trunk and their bags from the motel before driving off. Dean drives for a while before pulling off and burning John's body, called Bobby to tell him what happened.


End file.
